Jax Marlin - To Catch A Marlin

By T.K. Toppin

What Wouldn't You Do To Catch A Criminal?

At the end of the 24th Century, Special Inspector Michael Pedroni pursues Jax Marlin, a beautiful and elusive vigilante. It's a wild cat and mouse chase that will take him from Earth to the Bacchus Dome and beyond. Jax Marlin is not your average criminal. She seeks out evil-doers and law-breakers, doling out justice in whatever way she sees fit. But lately, she finds she's been gift-wrapping criminals specially for her favorite copper. Four of the world's leading criminals are lining up to form an alliance. Jax is determined to stop them. Hot on her heels, Inspector Pedroni finds himself questioning the difference, if any, between her justice and his. More than that, he wonders why, when he'd had her in his grasp, he was unable to slap on the restraints and bring her in.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.K. Toppin
• Release date: Aug 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223891123

T.K. Toppin

T.K. Toppin writes character-driven tales, loaded with mystery, intrigue and adventure, navigating the realms of Science Fiction, Speculative Fiction and Space Opera. Previously contracted by small press publishers, she is currently wading the waters of indie publishing and discovering its many challenges and delights. T.K. was born, raised and lives in Barbados. When she's not writing, she can be found studiously working on her doctorate in Procrastination by binge-watching shows on streaming networks, doing absolutely nothing, and juggling the baffling realm of social media marketing. Follow on: Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/written.by.tktoppin/ Tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/@tktoppin Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/WrittenByTKToppin/ Twitter: http://twitter.com/TKToppin Blogsite: http://www.tktoppin.blogspot.com Email: [e-mail]

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Chapter 1

Vancouver, British Colombia—July 6, 2398

Pedroni!

Special Inspector Michael Pedroni peered up from writing his report to find Chief Inspector Aoki walking towards his desk. His pace was brisk. The CI wore an irritated scowl, which meant something crawled up his aft orifice and laid eggs. And now he was about to hatch them all over Pedroni.

CI Aoki dropped a memory sphere and a flimsy report folder on Pedroni’s desk. The El Sayed case. It’s yours with an upgrade.

Pedroni narrowed his eyes. The kidnapping case? I thought that was Boucher’s.

Well the ever-efficient Boucher decided he’d rather have a burst appendix. Aoki fussed with his tie, a favored habit when something bothered him. Bulletin on the case. It’s no longer a kidnapping.

Pedroni’s stomach clenched. He hoped it hadn’t turned into a murder case. These high profile kidnappings never ended well. El Sayed was a wealthy woman from Cairo. From what Pedroni heard of the case, ICSP had her stalling in paying the ransom so they could establish the boy’s location.

The El Sayed boy’s been retrieved. Found him in Austria. The mother’s about to raise hell. Some vigilante-styled ninja woman got the boy, shot up the place he was held and dropped him off at the mother’s front door.

The boy’s unharmed? Pedroni reached for the file, about to open it.

Yes, yes, Aoki flapped a hand with impatience. Boy’s fine—had the time of his life and won’t shut up about his adventure. The mother’s ranting and raving about the ICSP dragging their ass about and— he ground his teeth together. Look. El Sayed is saying we’re a bunch of idiots who couldn’t find our own asses with two hands. Some ninja woman tracked the boy, retrieved him, and brought him home safe. You tell me who’s looking better in this case. El Sayed just made a press release and we just looked like the class fools.

She hired this vigilante?

El Sayed claims not. But you never can tell with these mega-billionaires. HQ thinks she’s telling the truth and Boucher’s tap on the relays can back it up. She’s clean. Your case is the vigilante. Now get your ass to Austria and find this ninja lady. Asap!

What about the murder-suicide I’m on?

Give it to Boucher. They’re dead, aren’t they? They’re not going anywhere. I’m sure they’ll keep until Boucher’s recovered.

A grimace formed on Pedroni’s face. He liked to finish his cases. The murder-suicide, while straightforward and almost closed, still needed reports filed and evidence logged and all those other, exciting, admin stuff that officially closed a case. He supposed Boucher could handle it; the man was a stickler for detail, especially with celebrity cases, which was why he’d ended up with the El Sayed case.

I’ve arranged for transport to leave in an hour. Get to the sky terminal. You’re on an orbiter. Everything we got so far is in that file. Aoki turned to leave but glowered at Pedroni. Which isn’t much. Get this vigilante, Pedroni. Use that ace detective brain of yours and track this…this ninja.

Austria. I’ve never been. Pedroni blew out a breath as he stood and gathered up his things. Yes, sir.

Leaving the oppressive violent crimes unit in New York had been the best decision he’d made in his life. He’d had enough of senseless murders and violence. Aside from the occasional dead body or serial murder, now he had fraud cases, international crimes, kidnapping and, he glanced at the open folder and pushed up a brow. Sexy vigilantes.

Blinking to clear his eyes, he picked up the file and stared at the digital print out of the suspected vigilante. Something tickled the middle of his chest; it felt like a quiver of anticipation.

Hello. Pedroni pursed his lips. Very sexy.

* * *

Pedroni walked across the room and peered out the window. He’d left Vancouver in the early evening, caught the orbiter shuttle and flew into the future. He always marveled at the time differences when he traveled. It was almost five in the afternoon the next day in Vienna. Somewhere, he’d missed a whole day on the two-hour flight.

Outside, fourteen stories down, the busy street burped with rush hour traffic. If he strained, he could hear the bustle of the street far below him. Air traffic still wasn’t too bad since Austria had a strict curfew on airborne vehicles—nothing after 4:00 p.m. to detract from showing off the beautiful city at night.

Good call, he mused, wishing other cities did the same. There was nothing more annoying than getting your head blasted with exhaust when you least expected it. Some air-riders were reckless—especially on take-off.

To his left, he spied one delinquent skyrider veering off the restricted airlane and overtaking three cars from above. He shook his head; glad he didn’t have to work traffic.

Focusing his attention back to his case, Pedroni peered across to the other hotel opposite, where he’d just been studying the scene. It was a good fifty meters or more from the Farahilde Hotel. The alleyway between was fairly wide, and right below, the other hotel had a small coffee shop with a frilly awning in blue and white. Pedestrian traffic was thick in the alley. He wondered if it had been as busy the night when the vigilante came calling; the recording didn’t show her actually landing.

He glanced across to the window she supposedly flew into, its glass broken and bright yellow police lasers crisscrossed it like a spider web. Then he looked down and surveyed the scene. She would’ve landed on the awning, or even the al fresco table setting scattered around it. Either way, it was dangerous as hell, reckless too, especially with a young boy in her arms.

Vigilantes, he muttered. The worse kind of criminals. They took the law into their own hands.

Sir? Boucher’s underling and Inspector-in-training, Agent Felix, asked from behind. Say something?

Nothing. Pedroni pushed away and scanned the modest room.

The tourist couple, on their first-ever European holiday, had recorded their arrival and found the vigilante already in their room, rigged out in harnesses and weapons. They sat, excited, in their modest sitting room. They had refused to change rooms as the hotel management suggested and, instead, watched the ICSP proceedings in awe. Pedroni had heard the woman saying it was the best holiday she’d had. Ever.

Civilians. Pedroni put them out of his mind.

He had studied the still shot as well as the recording during his flight. The vigilante’s ID, according to the file, was pending. She had turned to look at the couple in surprise, giving them a crooked smile and a wink. Then with two projectile guns, she blasted her way out the window and flew—yes, flew—out into the night air and smashed through a window in the building opposite. From there, the recording showed a stungun fight breaking out, followed by screams and shouts filling the night, echoing off buildings and down the quiet street. Soon after, she tumbled out the window with a young boy and floated gracefully towards the ground. That was where the recording had been stopped.

We got her ID. Felix scrolled through his wrist relay. Just came in. Name of Marlin, Jax. No middle. From the UK, aged 27.

Pedroni glanced at Felix and nodded. Unusual name, it stood out. Is that her real name?

Felix continued to scroll. Yes, sir. Legally changed it nine years ago from Jacinda Fish, he snorted out an unprofessional laugh. Don’t blame her for wanting to change that.

Address?

Felix sobered, responding to Pedroni’s sharp tone. Uh, says here London. Here, I’ll just…forward you the report.

Pedroni’s wrist relay pinged, indicating the file had been transferred. He opened it up and scrolled through the report. It stated Jax Marlin worked for an accounting firm as a receptionist. Orphaned at a young age, her family murdered in a violent home invasion. Her case file was sealed and her paternal grandmother in Wales later raised her.

The inspector pursed his lips. Other than her traumatic past, how did a receptionist turn into a vigilante? The more he studied Jax’s image, the more intrigued he became. He’d been on numerous cases in his near-twenty years as a cop, and rarely did one case stand out from the others, especially when all were grisly murders. This one did. And he couldn’t pinpoint the reason why.

Aside from her attractive qualities, something about her spoke to him. Was it the cocky way she winked at the couple recording her? Maybe it was the dare in her eyes, which said, ‘come and get me.’ Whatever it was, Pedroni couldn’t shake the feeling this case was going to confound him to no end.

There’s nothing more we can do here that hasn’t already been logged. Felix, Pedroni headed towards the door, get to Cairo, interview El Sayed. Be nice and don’t say anything that might ruffle her feathers. Send me a copy of the interview.

Nodding, Felix let out a breath. Wait. Where will you be?

London.

* * *

Her apartment was small, compact, neat, and like so many modern London flats, made to utilize space efficiently. The only outstanding feature with Jax Marlin’s one-bedroom pre-fab unit had been the exceptionally ordered and uncluttered appearance. As tiny as the unit was, he’d seen similar ones crammed to the gills with personal effects and still have two or more residents living in it. Marlin’s lack of effects made the unit huge in comparison.

She had a small kitchen that doubled as a dining room, which the discreet island offered. Four tall chairs sat around it. Move away a foot and he’d be in the living room; a shift left to some closet space, and to the right a door leading to the bathroom, another to the bedroom.

Marlin liked order, evidence of this glared out the moment he’d stepped into her unit—now sealed and guarded by two local police. She kept nothing personal, not even a picture of her dead family. It seemed she utilized the place solely to eat, sleep, and live out her life as a receptionist.

Her small fridge offered healthy choices of frozen dinners. Aside from an awkward selection of wine and girlie cocktail mixes, her cupboard had similar healthy offerings, including wholegrain cereals and the popular nutri-bars most people took to work for lunch. All it showed was Marlin took care of her body, ate well, drank in moderation and exercised.

But the appearance of her apartment bothered Pedroni as he studied it, spurring him to suspect she had another place, probably crammed full of personal items. If it had not been for the lack personal items, he wouldn’t have dwelled on it any longer. Who didn’t collect stuff? Who didn’t keep a little memento from a favorite restaurant, or a ticket stub from an event, or…something. Anything. Pedroni was sure of it. She had another place—a safe hole. This wasn’t her real home. She just visited the place when she played dress-up as a receptionist.

Pedroni foraged through her personal items in the tiny bedroom. Her closet presented a painfully dull selection of work clothes, home clothes, and going out clothes. Her underwear drawer presented a pitifully plain, heavy on the comfort side, selection of bras and panties in clinical white. Something an awkward teenager would wear under her mother’s instructions. The style of her pajamas was something he’d only seen in period movies and read about in books. They were a long-sleeved, shirt and pants combo in a worn out shade of pink and flecked with tiny white daisies. He almost expected to find a matching nightcap.

Looking at her shoes, they were also dull. Sedate. Exactly five pairs, plain and conservative save for one pair of high heels, which were outdated and looked like they belonged to her grandmother.

While en route to London, Pedroni had assigned two from his UK team to track down any friends or work colleagues Marlin may have, while sending the other two to interview the grandmother in Wales. They sent over their findings to his relay the moment he touched down.

Jax Marlin kept a close-knit group of friends from work. They insisted Jax was no vigilante. She was a quiet, unassuming work colleague everyone liked and admired for her efficiency and dependability.

It’s always the quiet ones.

Her friends also said she was conservative, sometimes boring, and a little geeky and socially awkward. One colleague had stated she felt sorry for Jax, because she was never with anyone romantically. This same woman thought maybe Jax was still a virgin, since she behaved a little naïve.

Having studied her image and manner in Austria, Pedroni begged to differ on that last observation. Jax Marlin came across as cheeky and cocky, and experienced enough in any sexual encounter just by the way she moved. The woman was a superb actress to have fooled her colleagues.

Studying her clothes, hanging orderly in her closet, Pedroni imagined her dressed in them. She’d look odd, like a gawky, pre-retiree schoolmarm. The clothes in her London flat were all just for show. A costume.

The real Jax Marlin was the one in the tourist’s video recording. Dressed in militant black, assertive, daring, and…well, sexy as hell. Which led back to that first observation about her sexual encounters. She was no virginal vigilante with a divine cause. She was wild and badass with ninja moves to shame a master sensei.

So what made her become a vigilante? To relieve the stress of work? She was a receptionist, how much stress did that entail?

Boredom? Pedroni tapped out a tune against his thigh as he glanced about the apartment, drinking in the persona of Jax Marlin. He nodded and a small smile tweaked the corners of his mouth.

No. Jax Marlin’s been prepping for this day a long time.

Pedroni remembered the recording. She moved with precision and confidence, which meant she’d spent long years in physical training to condition her body. Honing her skills.

Being a receptionist was just her staging area.

To dedicate that much time and effort into your body, also meant she’d been preparing for this for a long time—possibly from childhood. He considered the trauma of her childhood. The police report had only said she survived after witnessing her father’s murder and both her mother’s and sister’s rape. They were later murdered after the criminals had discarded young Jacinda out the window like garbage.

If that didn’t drive someone to seek out justice for all the sins of the world, nothing would. But why take matters into her own hands, and not become a cop, like he was?

As he walked around her bedroom, he scratched his stubbly chin, neglected from another few hours lost in travel. He didn’t know what day it was, only that he needed to shave and get some sleep. He could thank his father for passing down the hairy face, prominent nose, and the cop gene. He could thank his mother for his short, five-nine stature and good skin, which gave him a cultured look. And he could thank both his parents for his old fashioned ways. Call it pride, but he refused to buckle to the cosmetic demands most men succumbed to and opt to have his facial hair permanently removed. He was a man. And men had beards and shaved. It was a ritual, spending those few, quiet moments in the morning in front the mirror, contemplating, grooming, reconnecting with himself.

Pedroni made a mental note to get a portable shaver. Since joining ICSP, he’d been doing a lot of traveling. He also made a note to file a request to have Jacinda Fish’s records unsealed and find out the exact details of her past; police files with minors involved were sealed up tight to protect them. He needed a little more time in London to feel out Marlin and get into her head. He’d already sent in a request for profiling, forwarding the statements from her friends to the behavioral experts.

Pedroni roamed her small flat once more. The walls in her flat were bare and without a single picture, painting, or fanciful decorative item. No plants, no pets, no reading material—nothing to give you a clue into what she was really like.

The only thing that stood out, in Pedroni’s opinion, was her smell. A light floral scent with a citrus base that didn’t assault you, but rather wafted into your psyche like background music. Like freshly laundered clothes, or the zingy scent after coming out the shower from using one of those free gel sampler packets. And most disturbing of all, it smelled a lot like home in his youth, like Saturdays and laundry day at his parents. Without even trying, he could add in the aroma of something cooking from his mother’s kitchen in the background. A tiny sensation tweaked inside him and made him smile.

The bedroom and bathroom had the highest concentration of her fragrance. Pedroni sniffed a scarf he’d found, neatly folded on a chair next to her perfectly made bed. It was a plain scarf in a muted sage, which seemed to match her work clothes of gray, and play clothes of beiges and similar pastels. He’d picked it up and without thinking—something to hold while he pondered—pressed it to his face, inhaling.

The perfume was a pricey, designer brand called Mikan no Yumé—dreams of orange, the literal translation. He’d seen the advertisements—and the bottle on her dresser—where the wearer was assured of a dreamy, dew-covered walk through an orchard filled with orange blossoms and fanciful sprites and pixies and what have you.

Something ached inside him. A scent-triggered memory, a sensation, followed by a definite flutter in his belly. Like standing on the edge of a very tall building and looking down, and at the same time, feeling very safe and secure, like being comforted by your mother.

Like the anticipation of going home after a long time away.

It also felt a lot like falling in love.

He stood in the middle of her tiny living room and nodded.

Jax Marlin, I will find you.

Chapter 2

En route to the Bacchus Dome—six months later

What ever happened to a simple open and shut case? Nothing ever seemed that simple anymore. Pedroni had been asking these questions a lot lately, and not able to come up with satisfactory answers.

He engaged his files from his data tablet to play back the media file of Marlin’s apartment, like he’d done countless times before. It showed him nothing new, but it passed the time. With a sigh, he punched the tablet back to sleep mode before the wary-eyed flight attendant spotted him and belched out yet another reprimand. He hoped the hotel would be decent enough. Pedroni had been lucky to get a moderately classy room in one of the family-oriented hotels. A feat, considering Bacchus’ reputation. Cheap and affordable, and according to the ad, boasted a spectacular vista of the stars.

Pedroni’s mind drifted to the last news flash a week ago. The media began playing it up with much hype. The Marlin strikes again! It was embarrassing, even humiliating to the law enforcers. But no one could deny she helped, and with greater success too. The boundaries of the law didn’t apply to her, and that, in Pedroni’s opinion, made her dangerous and unpredictable. One day, she’d go too far and step over to the other side. Pedroni was certain of that, and he kept reminding others who begged to differ.

Marlin hadn’t actually killed anyone, that is, killed in a cold-blooded, and premeditated way. But it would only be a matter of time. Evidence and analysts showed she stalked her victims in the same methodical and almost clinical manner serial killers used. How easy that level of dedication and near-fanaticism could turn you into a cold and ruthless killer.

He admired her in a professional way, and deep down he didn’t want her to be a murderer. He noticed she chose her victims with care. They were criminals the police couldn’t catch, touch, or didn’t have enough evidence on. With that level of dedication, Pedroni knew she cared about the victims of the criminals she hunted. She cared…maybe too much.

The longer she eluded him, the more personal it had become. It was an affront to Pedroni’s sense of right and wrong, as a case-closer, as a cop. Jax Marlin knew who he was, and knew he stood as primary inspector in charge of bringing her in.

She’d taken to leaving behind a calling card. A silver marlin pendant, sometimes with notes or lipstain marks on the marlins, which he strongly suspected were for him. Soon the analysts would come to the same conclusion, if they hadn’t already. This could be the reason he’d been left on his own. His superiors no doubt thought he stood a better chance at drawing her out in some way if he were alone. But that was a long-shot bit of reasoning. If he knew how to draw her out, rest assured, he’d have done that a long time ago. It had become a literal cat and mouse chase, with the mouse leaving snippets of crumbs for the cat to chase. Like the snippet she’d left him that she’d be on Bacchus.

Despite his discomfort at being strapped in a narrow seat, the droll hum of the cruiser’s engines made his lids heavy. He closed his eyes and replayed the images of Jax in his mind. His mind wandered. He tried to imagine what sort of room Jax would have, probably a penthouse suite with its own security droids and private service staff to see to her every whim. Pedroni smiled